Recongregator
by Boar Rushes Down The Mountain
Summary: A mission to root out Chaos cults on a hive world becomes more complicated for Inquisitor Wulfbane of the Ordo Hereticus when Eldar become involved. How much further off the edge is an already radical Inquisitor allowed to go before his superiors hunt him down and kill him? Can he trust the xenos he has allied himself with?
1. Chapter 1

Hi, it's me. I'm actually attempting a multi-chapter fic that i think I can follow through on. Summer's coming up. I'll do what I can to keep this thing rolling. For some reason, this whole story just seems to be coming more easily to me than writing usually does, so I thought I'd jump on the opportunity. If anyone wants me to provide a dramatis personae, I have one lying around, but I may have to update it as the story progresses. Just ask. (That's if anybody reads this at all.) Without further ado, here's the prologue.

* * *

_Prologue_

_Bakka, Segmentum Tempestus_

_995.M41_

The fires of the weapon-forges glowed like insects in the night, scattered across a field of black smokestacks and low buildings which extended deep into the ground.

They were growing larger gradually, as their observers descended cloaked in long, sweeping coats with high collars and rebreather masks. Soon those watching could see the swarms of engineers and forge workers parading through the avenues of hot metal and whirling machine parts to complete their appointed tasks.

The two masked watchers nodded to each other as their view sharpened and the hiss of landing replaced the hum of flight.

Disembarking briskly, they were greeted by a tech priest, who bowed deeply upon making out the design of the matching medallions hanging around their necks by gleaming silver chains which stood out against the murky black-gray of their stormcoats.

"This way, your Excellencies,"

[][][]

Far above, in high orbit, a massive bulk drifted silently, dark, mossy green in color and emblazoned with an impressive collection of silver Aquila, winged skulls, and similar gothic paraphernalia. At the heart of it lay a large office, decorated with lavish tapestries, soft rugs, and fine wooden furniture. Chairs sat in a semicircle about a simulated fireplace which was actually a heater. Five figures sat together, four of them human.

One of the humans spoke.

"Lord Inquisitor, why have you not chosen to go down yourself?"

"I haven't got the energy or the guts for orbital entry just now I'm afraid, I think I'd be heaving before the lander hit planetside."

"Ah, I see. And naturally, that would...undermine the dignity of the holy ordos."

"It would indeed, Seraphine."

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence before the xeno spoke.

"You could have sent me, I am certain I would have made a good impression," she joked without changing her expression from its usual neutral deadpan. That earned a few snickers from around the fake fireplace.

The inquisitor smirked.

"An excellent suggestion, Shas'ui. I'm sure they'd have been able to look past your blue skin and see you for the kind soul you are. That's something highly encouraged in the Imperium. We all know how xenophobia is looked down upon in Imperial institutions."

There was more laughter among the circle. The tau seemed to sober though, and her face took on a thoughtful expression.

"Sometimes I wonder why you keep me around, Vraail" she commented, with a brief glance downward at her lap.

The inquisitor gave her a stern look.

"You are a valuable part of my retinue, as you have a sharp and creative mind which is paired with impressive combat expertise."

There was a pause.

"Additionally, I'm fond of you. And as you know, fully capable of ensuring your safety on board this vessel and on most of the sort of missions we engage in."

"I don't doubt you in the slightest, Vraail, it just worries me sometimes... I'm not welcome in the Imperium, just as I'm not welcome back home with the Empire."

"I'm sorry, Kais. I can at least guarantee that everyone on this vessel is predisposed to be friendly towards you, with... an exception or two."

"Don't worry yourself, boss. I know that much."

"Good."

There was another bout of silence, until the hatch that led out to the rest of the ship swung open with a barely noticeable hiss. Leather boots creaked a little as the armsman stepped into the inquisitor's sanctum.

"My Lord Inquisitor?"

"Yes, Alonso?"

"An audio transmission for you, milord. From Lady Inquisitor Belstern."

The Inquisitor rose from his seat wearily, brushing his long black hair away from his face idly.

"Thank you armsman. I'll take it in my chambers proper."

"Aye milord."

The armsman bowed as he departed the office.

One of the remaining figures spoke as Vraail stepped out of the room to hear what his superior had to say. A blonde man with a strong jaw, he dressed in fatigues, but his posture was an odd combination of casual and nervous. He gave the impression of a rabbit that knew it was safe in its den, but was skittish all the same.

"How much do you want to bet she's just gotten wind of the Tallarn incident and decided to give him an earful for it?"

"That's really not any of our business, Anton," murmured the last figure quietly. He was a Krieger, tall and wiry, with dark brown hair and handsome aristocratic features. He sat with a stiff back, as poised and composed as was proper for an officer, but he was definitely at ease. There was no question that if he had been even slightly uncomfortable, his gas mask would have been on his face, rather than at his belt, where it hung now.

"Come on Aleksandar. No need to deny your curiosity. You know we don't mean any harm by it."

"Speculating about one's commanding officer is contrary to protocol. Especially when said individual is an Inquisitor."

Seraphine smirked at that.

"When has anything we did been completely according to protocol, exactly?"

Aleksandar blinked once.

"I know our strike force isn't the most... by the book operation. But I do believe that discipline is necessary for carrying out the tasks we are assigned, and not talking about our leader behind his back is a matter of discipline."

"Alright, alright. We get it, Hauptmann von Richter," retorted Anton, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the Death Korps officer's rank.

"You don't have to participate in our blatant breach of discipline, and I can take it somewhere you don't have to listen to it. Anyone else want to pay a visit to mess hall 38?"

By the time Vraail returned to his office, a scowl on his face, only Aleksandar and Kais Emura were seated at the fire, discussing the best methods of defense against Dark Eldar fast attack troops. Smiling and shaking his head in amusement at his dedicated subordinates, he seated himself at his desk and unrolled a chart of the Segmentum Tempestus.

[][][]

Sister Superior Katherine Narasima was undeniably nervous. Her squad was a part of the last remainder of the Commandery sent to defend the planet of Bakka from a heretic raiding force reputed to have been too large for even the sizable Skitarii army (which was integral to the defense of the forge world) to handle. After a disastrous sojourn in the warp, their force had arrived, at 75% strength, to find the enemy already vanquished. Receiving new orders almost immediately upon their arrival, the Canoness Commander had left a token force on-world to reinforce the depleted Tech-guard. Now, three months later, all four squads of Sororitas were not only itchy for action, but redundant as well. They had been supplanted by the swiftly manufactured Mechanicus combat servitors who were more useful on a heavily industrial planet, as well as better-liked on one which largely worshipped the Machine-God.

The sisters' status on the forge world wasn't what had Katherine nervous though. It was the message which had come through last week, announcing the arrival of an Ordo Hereticus Inquisitor in need of troops. The detachment which she was a part of had been requisitioned by the Holy Inquisition. It had been six days and it still hadn't sunk in, even as she waited for the arrival of her new commander at the recently-evacuated barracks where her sisters had formed up by ranks to present themselves for duty. She swallowed again, her throat feeling abnormally dry. Shouldn't she be ecstatic about this? It was another opportunity to serve her Emperor, this time in a greater way than she ever had before. Her fear persisted. It was not fear of battle, it was fear of disappointing the highest representative of Imperial authority she would likely ever meet in her life. Was it right? Should she be afraid of that? Fear was supposed to be for the weak. This train of thought was interrupted by the soft scraping of the doors opening to allow the entry of three shadowed figures. As they entered the light their features were revealed. The one in the middle was a tech priest of relatively high rank, clad in the bright red of his order. Katherine vaguely recognized him; mainly by the three oddly shaped mechadendrites which sprung from his back and shoulders. He was accompanied by two tall, male figures in dark gray stormcoats and bone white rebreather masks styled to look like skulls. Both of them had blood red rosettes hanging around their necks outside of their coats.

There was a ripple of surprise in the ranks. Most had expected the Inquisitor to come in person.

Palatine Emmalene stepped forward, made a leg, and bowed deeply, sweeping her cape back with her free hand. Remaining in her bowing position, she raised her voice and declared with an appropriate amount of ceremony,

"The Daughters of the Emperor are ever at the service of the Inquisition."

The Palatine, who was in command of all the sisters on Bakka, was a tall, imposing, and beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. She sported two of the most common hallmarks of the Orders Militant, silver-dyed hair cut at chin length, and a jet black fleur-de-lis tattoo on her left cheek.

The man on the left nodded politely.

"It is good to see you all are so eager to serve. I am Second Lieutenant Louis Mortimer, of the Mordian Iron Guard. My associate is Lieutenant Ezio Tsakovar of the Maccabian Janissaries. We are here on behalf of Inquisitor Wulfbane of the Ordo Hereticus. Our orders are to escort you to the Aquila landers we arrived in, which will take you up to Patience, our master's vessel, awaiting us in high orbit. Your equipment will be loaded into Arvus lighters, so just bring yourselves and your personal effects please. I apologize for my abruptness, but there will be time for introductions aboard Patience, and the Inquisitor desires to be ready for warp translation within the next several hours."

If Emmalene was galled at being issued orders by a junior Imperial Guard officer, she didn't let it show, nodding and turning to instruct her troops to follow her to the landing site.

[][][]

Aquila landers were shuttle craft with a reputation for elegance as well as maneuverability. The one Katherine's squad had begun to board was grounded, so she couldn't very well speak to its maneuverability, but elegant wasn't the word to describe the burn-riddled exterior, comfortably worn seats, or plush and cozy pillows scattered around the main passenger compartment. It gave the impression of a room which had been broken into comfortability by people who had spent many long hours in it.

This was not an impression which lined up with any of the sisters' preconceptions regarding the Inquisition. It simply wasn't conventional.

Nor was it entirely relevant to the task at hand, so she reigned herself in mentally and focused on checking the buckles of the restraints which would protect her as the shuttle left orbit.

The quiet chatting of her battle-sisters was reassuringly familiar, especially when they were all in a strange setting. None of Katherine's squad were very experienced, and Bakka had been the first deployment for all of them except Katherine herself, who had seen combat once before. Orks. Her mind shied naturally away from the memory of that first rush of adrenaline which was accompanied as always by the coppery taste of blood in her mouth and the uniquely foul scent of the greenskin. When the chatter died away suddenly, she lifted her gaze from the strap which she had been securing about her waist to the rest of the compartment.

One of the two guard officers was standing there. He unstrapped his rebreather mask and removed it, earning him a few admiring looks from the more relaxed sisters. He was a blonde, with blue eyes and features not quite masculine enough to qualify as handsome. Instead he was downright pretty.

"Good morning everyone. I'm here to get you up to speed on a few important things before we arrive on the Inquisitor's ship. One. We are not a normal outfit. While I know none of you have ever worked with the Inquisition before, whatever you expected, we are not it. Our operations are neither ridiculously complicated deep-cover plots, nor heavily-armed raids totally lacking in subtlety. They are something in-between. And they never. Ever. Go smoothly. So always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you think it's already dropped, you're wrong. It'll get worse. The upside of it is, we're remarkably good at coming out of it in one piece.

Two. We requisitioned your strike force so that you could be the hammer blow we call in once we think we have the enemy pinned down where we can attack with impunity.

Three, and this is very much like one, the moment when we think we can attack with impunity is exactly when things are about to go south, so you're going to play the cavalry on plenty of occasions, you can be sure."

He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. "I think that's everything. Any questions?"

Diana lifted a hand tentatively, as though attending an academic lecture.

"Yes?"

"Who exactly will the enemy be?"

"Aha. Good question. I knew there was something I was forgetting. We expect to be engaging in extermination of cults engaging in heretical and deviant practices on Imperial worlds. That means if we're calling for backup from you... make sure to load for daemon."

This caused no small number of alarmed looks and mutters in the cabin.

Another sister spoke up, outside of Katherine's line of sight.

"But sir, isn't that a job for the Ordo Malleus?"

The guard officer (and by the voice she had surmised that it was the one who had introduced himself as Mortimer) didn't look particularly surprised by this question.

"Yeah, you'd think that, wouldn't you? As we've learned from past missions, calling for Malleus backup means either we do all the tough fighting and they show up just in time to take credit for our victory, or they don't deem to show up at all. So that's just sort of how it is."

Naive and inexperienced, most of the girls seemed shocked at the idea of Imperial institutions failing to work together as they ought to in theory. Katherine had seen more of imperial bureaucracy and sectionalism than they had, and it didn't particularly shock her to hear that the Inquisition had its own fair share of that.

"Don't be too discouraged about that though, we do have organizations we can rely upon. The Ordo Xenos has never once let us down when we asked them for assistance, and the Imperial Navy have such a history of getting us out of tight spots that I'm sure we owe them several large favors by now."

Perhaps half of the sisters seemed reassured by that.

"Don't worry, combat is some ways off in any case. We have several weeks of warp travel ahead of us at the least, (or that's what it'll feel like for us, I can't say for sure exactly when we'll come out where we want to be, or if we'll be where we want to be at all) during which time you will all be given training appropriate for the sort of ops you'll be participating in."

Given their past history with warp travel, none of the sisters were reassured by the first part, though the idea of specialized training seemed to appeal to several, presumably as it would render them more prepared for their upcoming missions, not simply because they enjoyed drills.

[][][]

Adrift in the vastness of realspace, a lonely vessel of gently crafted wraithbone allowed itself to slip gently into the gravity of a clouded planet.

Inside, a female shape sat in deep meditation, as she had been for a span of time she had not bothered to keep track of, but which would undoubtedly be considered long by any human measurement.

Her eyes flickered open as the planet drew closer. Her lips parted to murmur a name in the ancient tongue of her ancestors.

"She-Who-Thirsts."


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter I_

_Thought for the Day: It is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself._

_995.M41_

The underbelly of every hive was one of the most desperate, impoverished, and unpleasant places in the galaxy. Imperial institutions, however incompetent they were, at least put on a semblance of doing their jobs on the higher levels, but the nearer one got to the poor districts, the less Imperial authority could be seen. Gradually they faded away, sanitation, safety, and police. Thus it was that the underhive was, in every hive, on every hive world without fail, a haven for violence, heresy, and moral decay of all types.  
Unsurprisingly, there were cults of blood. Everywhere humanity spreads it brings anger with it. There were also cults of death. Humans are, and likely forever will remain fascinated by their own mortality. Cults existed dedicated to more abstract things as well- the shifting, changing nature of the universe, the acme of true knowledgeability and other concepts. But without a doubt, the most prevalent of the forbidden forms of worship was the kind that explored human pain and pleasure in excess. There was a natural fascination with hedon in the human species which lent an insidious draw to the religions which worshipped gods and goddesses of sensuality. Secret orders such as those were swift to spring up, and even swifter to take root in the populace of an underhive.  
Without exception, these cults were dangerous. Without exception they were illegal in the Imperium of Man. And without a doubt, it was the duty of any and all loyal citizens to report even the slightest hint of such subversion to the authorities.  
When the reach of a heretical organization on an Imperial world grew great enough that the local authorities were unable to counter its actions, it was also the duty of those authorities to call for assistance. It could not always be accurately predicted who would answer that call. Sometimes Arbites were sent. Sometimes detachments of Imperial Guard troopers, or Sisters of Battle. Maybe even as many as five Space Marines, under certain circumstances.  
A lone ship materialized near Hive World Drachus. The vessel's bow was marked in white with the barred letter I of the Imperial Inquisition.

[][][]

Stephan Fesweld was a relatively young man with brown hair, thin rimmed glasses (which he wore for purely aesthetic reasons), and a handsome face. He kept himself in good shape, and was single.  
He was currently on his way to a small meeting downhive of where he worked, in a relatively run down neighborhood. As he trotted through the thin, winding streets, his head buzzed with excited thoughts- anticipation of what he was about to do, memory of the thrill he had experienced when he'd done it before- and paranoia over the idea that an Imperial official of any kind might get wind of what he was doing. Down that path of thinking lay pants-wetting terror, and so he veered away from it, as humans are always so good at doing. He put it in the dim, heavily guarded corner of his brain where fear spreads from.  
Giving the necessary code-phrases to the bouncer at the door, Stephan slipped inside the erratically-lit club. Stopping for a moment on the balcony that the entry led onto, he looked at the establishment. The balcony he stood on had two sets of stairs, one leading to each side. The staircase to his left was the way to a metal catwalk which provided a view of the entire building. The staircase to his right led down to the main floor of the club, and by extension, the rather exotic bar, which served not only drinks, but a plethora of other concoctions designed to separate the user from reality as thoroughly as possible. It was already filling up fast, swarms of people were dancing, while at the edges, on cushions and chairs, others indulged in illegal substances and sex.  
Stephan knew that as the night deepened, the patrons would grow more and more daring, and the activities they engaged in would become progressively less socially acceptable. Bloodlettings weren't uncommon, although never fatal, and always erotic in nature. Somewhat rarer were ritual summonings, which usually involved chalk, incense, and chanting, leading up to the appearance of some minor being from the warp. These beings were always sent back where they came from once the intoxicated summoners were finished ordering them around, but the foul, curdling taste hung in the air for hours after the dismissal.  
Eagerly, he descended into the pit of debauchery.

[][][]

Weaving a veil of illusion over the beautifully crafted vessel in which she was descending, Farseer Nemain took in the planet below her. Unsurprisingly, it was swarming with humans. The short-lived aliens seemed to get everywhere all at once, swarming across the galaxy in advances and retreats, always full of energy. It was admirable, she supposed, in a way. They did as much as they could in the little time they had.  
But the wrongness that had called her to this world was of Eldar creation, or rather, the origin of it was. That made it the responsibility of the Eldar to cleanse. No human would prevent her from doing her duty. Neither would anything else.  
Touching down on solid land, Nemain stood up, gesturing silently to her banshees to do the same. She glanced around herself, then opened her mouth to speak.  
"As you are all aware, we have made planetfall on the mon-keigh world called Drachus. It is a densely populated, but ill-informed place. We will be dressed as religious pilgrims, in heavy robes and cowls. You will speak only when spoken to, in your best low gothic. If anyone sees your ears, you will pass it off as a mutation particular to the planet you are from. We will be swift and efficient. We will not draw attention to ourselves. Is that understood?"  
She received a series of nods.  
"Good. We have landed outside one of their large settlements. We shall slip into it through a small gate which is not guarded. The ship and her crew will remain here, in concealment, until we return. If we do not, they will depart without us."  
There was another round of silent acknowledgements. The seven Eldar met each others' gazes, gathering their will for what lay ahead.

[][][]

The amphitheater-shaped briefing room buzzed with tension and excitement. Battle sisters spoke quietly to each other in the main seating area, while an odd, mismatched assortment of warriors and scholars were gathered around the low table projecting a three dimensional picture of the planet below. Recognizable to the Ecclesiastical troops were the blonde Mordian officer, Lieutenant Mortimer, and the Janissary, who was now dressed in the extremely recognizable battle garb of his regiment. More familiar to the battle sisters were the two Imperial Guard with whom they had been training for the past two weeks, Hauptmann Von Richter of the Death Korps, (a harsh taskmaster with high expectations, as they had learned) and Corporal Siyo, of the Warhawks. Von Richter was grim and pale, with dark brown hair and eyes which were paired with handsome features. Siyo was a tall redheaded woman with striking features and grey eyes.  
The others were equally varied. There was a weedy, brown-haired sanctioned psyker standing slightly hunched over, clutching a silver Aquila and conversing with a young woman in the scholarly robes of the Sisters Dialogus. Near them stood a mad-eyed woman with tangled hair, wearing a tattered, worn black dress. She was leaning heavily on a frightening man with a plethora of scars across his face. Leaning over the table and fiddling with the settings of the projection device was an enginseer, clad in the bright crimson robes of the Mechanicus. It was difficult to see his face, concealed as it was by the man's hood, but it was almost certainly covered by a mass of wires and sensors. A pretty brunette girl who looked as though she was barely out of schola (though she had to be at least 25 given her bearing and clothes) was leaning against the wall in a plain white medical uniform, talking to a raven-haired man who was probably about 30. He was wearing what looked like carapace armor, with the barred letter -I- of the Inquisition on his shoulder-plates. Overseeing the scene were a man and a woman, both young, and both swathed in blood red acolyte's robes. After a few minutes of chatter, the apprentice inquisitors stepped forward and called for general silence, which fell quickly enough.  
The man spoke first, "My name is Herbert Ward, I'm an Inquisitorial Acolyte. This is Astrid Schaeffer, my peer."  
She picked up where he had left off, "We are currently entering orbit over Hive World Drachus, where we will be investigating the extent of heretical cult activity on the north continent, especially Hive Primaris. This cult activity, according to all reports, is depraved and highly illegal, however, it is not expected that we shall have need of more than two squads of battle-sisters."  
"Nevertheless, we will be giving a full briefing to you all for the purpose of getting you all accustomed to working with this team."  
It was left unsaid that by briefing the whole group on the mission, the Inquisitor's retinue was making it so that they could replace any sisters they lost in the line of duty without having to go back over the facts with the new ones.  
The robed pair stepped backwards and allowed for introductions. The Psyker was Talmorac Umbra, the Sister Dialogus was Seraphine Minerva, the mad-looking woman was Ophelia, the scarred man was called Abhorson, the techpriest Bartholomew Gephardt, the Hospitaller Winifred Feyghul, and strangely, the raven haired man only introduced himself as Vraail. As the briefing began, Vraail stayed quiet at the edges of the discussion, observing the other members of the Inquisitorial retinue as they summarized the situation, rarely making any kind of comment, but always showing an interest. Katherine watched him out of curiosity, noting his relaxed demeanor and assured smiles. Questions naturally began to arise, chiefly, what was his part in this mission?  
Realizing her distraction, she snapped her attention back to the briefing proper.  
"Intelligence gathered from local government sources indicates another 77 minor cults engaged in similar rituals across the rest of the northern continent. Destruction of the more prominent heretical organizations could leave behind a power vacuum which would make our efforts pointless in the long term. It will be necessary to expend resources on burning the hives clean of this taint on a large scale." Acolyte Schaeffer was summarizing the situation, giving an overview of the task they would be undertaking. The planetary map had zoomed down to focus on a large, awkwardly shaped landmass that spread over much of the northern hemisphere. There were five major hives marked, and more than a dozen smaller ones, sometimes half-merged into clumps of metropolises that sprawled horizontally for many miles as well as deep underground and high into the heavens. What could be guessed easily enough was that the land outside the hives was desolate and polluted beyond all recognition, and that the hive was dependent on the nearby agri-worlds for vital supplies such as food and clean water.  
"We will begin our operation with what might be best termed pest control, locating various headquarters and cleansing two or three minor cults at a time. Given the speed at which word spreads, we may see the very smallest beginning to go underground right away, but it is a simple fact that this will become more difficult as the mission goes on, it's unavoidable. We will be spread across the continent, and our early strikes will be patterned so as to seem random. As we work our way up to larger targets, we will need to use more and more force..."

[][][]

Vraail tapped his fingers together, letting the familiar sights and sounds of the briefing wash over him. He was already prepared for this, or at least, as prepared as he was likely to get. There was an Imperial Guard saying, he believed, that dictated that "No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy," and it was certainly true. He glanced around the room again. The seats were lined with battle sisters in grey, heavy, hooded robes. It was a cold ship, and they were necessary, fortunately they came standard issue, each one with a large yellow Aquila printed across the back. In the very back, Anton was lurking silently, next to a figure in a sealed suit that covered every inch of skin and concealed the appearance of the wearer. Vraail knew it was Kais, who had chosen to attend the briefing in person rather than receive the information separately. He absently noted that the suit even included custom boots which disguised her distinctly inhuman hooves. She must have gotten those made custom by Gephardt, probably sometime in the last month since he'd never seen them before.  
It was a secret from the battle sisters, at this point in the mission, and hopefully for the remainder of it as well, exactly how radical their little group was. There were things going on aboard _Patience_ that would have Puritans frothing at the mouth and demanding his head and the heads of all the members of his retinue. Use of Xenotech. Suffering the Alien to live. Suffering the Heretic to live. Use of Witchcraft. Use of Heretical Weaponry. These were serious charges, and the possibility of these breaches of Imperial Doctrine reaching the ears of an Inquisitor with any credibility or power was not something to be taken lightly. Vraail thought back to his last conversation with Lady Inquisitor Belstern and thanked the Emperor she was on his side, at least mostly. His mentor and senior had an arrangement with him. He got results, which was to say, foiled the ruinous powers wherever they appeared, and defended the Imperium from the Enemy Within. She covered for him when his (some would say heretical) methods were called into question by other members of the Most Holy Inquisition.  
Almost involuntarily, his thoughts drifted back to the Tallarn incident that had taken place about 5 months ago. In his mind's eye he envisioned stretches of blazing dunes, then red and white wraithbone plates silently gliding over each other as a graceful female spun to face him with lightning crackling between her fingers. He recalled every detail of her face as she removed her helmet. Stormy grey eyes, smooth, tan skin, and short brown hair. She was beautiful.  
She wasn't even human, he reminded himself. His friendship with Kais was one thing, allowing himself to become infatuated with a ruthless enemy psyker who would undoubtedly kill him the moment it served her ends was something entirely different. He would not allow her to distract him.  
Heresy indeed, to allow an alien witch to affect him this way. He muttered under his breath.  
"In the Name of the Emperor, who rules and protects humanity from Holy Terra, I swear to defend the Imperium of Man, and all subjects thereof, from the insidious treachery of the heretic, the vile scorn of the turncoat, and the dangerous workings of the witch. Let none stand in my way, for my authority comes from the Golden Throne itself. No institution is above my watchful gaze. I am the hidden blade of the Emperor. Innocentia Nihil Probat."  
The reminder of his duties and vows rang in his ears. He bowed his head briefly, and returned every aspect of his being to the task at hand.  
The enemies of the Imperium would burn.


End file.
